


Meeting His Equal

by Aivy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Academic competition, Attempted Murder Is Foreplay, BDSM, F/M, Hermione Wins, Hermione falls for Horcrux Tom, Hermione is in Slytherin, Hermione is related or fake-related to Grindelwald, Hermione makes Tom Jealous, Hermione trounces the competition in DADA, Hermione yeets Tom, M/M, Monsterfucking Voldemort, Possessive Tom, Pretending-to-be-pureblooded Hermione, Professor Riddle, Save Or Temper Tom Riddle’s Revolutionary Agenda, Someone Tags Along with Time Travel, The Basilisk is Actually Quite Nice, Time Travel, Tom is beautiful, Tom makes Hermione jealous, Tom tries to recruit Hermione for the Knights of Walpurgis, Tom uses an unforgivable on Hermione, Tomione Trope Bingo 2020, blackout - Freeform, head boy and head girl, serial killer au, suspicious dumbledore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aivy/pseuds/Aivy
Summary: Highly alert and suspicious despite his upset stomach, Marvolo looked around his destination - ‘cause he had certainly travelled through space, but why?! - with his wand drawn. However, his sharpened senses couldn’t find something or someone responsible for whatever had happened to him just now. The temptation to shout out: ‘Who is there? Show yourself!’ was immense but the budding Dark Lord thought that silence was the better part of valour until he knew WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK HAD HAPPENED TO HIM?!
Relationships: Tom Marvolo Riddle/Hermione Granger
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80
Collections: Tomione Trope Bingo 2020





	1. Lughnasa's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> My first Trope Bingo and my first fic for that pairing, so I’ll obviously go for a blackout because that’s just how I roll…
> 
> Tropes: see tags

“Finally alone!” With a sigh, Tom Marvolo Riddle let himself slump into an overstuffed armchair with a glass of overpriced brandy in his hand, something so undignified, he never would have done it if he wasn’t alone. It had been nice to be fawned over and doted upon by the Lady Malfoy for a couple of weeks but it would be relaxing to slip off his masks for once and be himself for an extended period of time before his hosts returned just in time to see him and Abraxas off for the start of the next school year.

He still had her concerned parting words ringing in his ear:

_“Please do not hesitate to ask the House Elves for anything you need!”_

_“Yes, ma’am,” he tried to placate his Knight’s mother._

_“And you are sure you do not mind staying alone at the Manor for more than three weeks? Maybe you can-”_

_“Only family,” Lord Malfoy reminded his wife gently but also slightly exasperated as that had not been the first time she considered taking him along with them to the continent._

_“Alright, darling,” she conceded gracefully. “Should something happen though, Marvolo, you are welcome to Floo us at the Malfoy Residence in Anjou.”_

_“Of course, Milady. Don’t worry for me. With all the grounds to explore and your magnificent library at hand, I am sure the time will fly by and I won’t even have time to be bored or get in trouble.” Here he winked at her. “Go and enjoy your cousin’s handfasting and the following festivities. There will be other occasions for me to observe the wonders of Lughnasa.”_

After a few more reassurances and good-byes, the Malfoys had eventually departed for France and sixteen year old Marvolo was left to his own devices in the grand family manor of an Ancient and Noble House.

Marvolo. It was the name the Lady Malfoy had used, the name he had allowed his acquaintances and teachers to call him when they wanted to refer to him informally - and only two meddlesome wizards went against his wishes and called him ‘Tom’ - and the one he still mostly addressed himself by. Even if he had claimed another name for himself in ritual on his last birthday, on New Year’s Eve, it hadn’t yet set in all the way and he couldn’t go around telling adults to call him ‘Lord Voldemort’; they would think him a silly child. It would take a few more years for them to acknowledge his power and ambition.

“I am Lord Voldemort,” he spoke out loud in an attempt to make himself get used to it. Hm, it didn’t feel right yet. Oh well, it didn’t matter. He had his Knights of Walpurgis who mostly regarded him with the respect and reference that was his due and the few that were still hesitant to follow someone who came out of nowhere wholeheartedly would come around soon. He still had two more years at Hogwarts to solidify his power base.

Such and similar were Marvolo’s thoughts, still lounging in a velvet armchair with an expensive drink in his hand, when the clock struck midnight and suddenly his world was upended in more ways than one. The spacious room around him blurred and rocked as if the earth was quaking but he himself didn’t feel jarred in his seat although the visual effects were enough to make him feel nauseated. Then an unnerving screeching sound was added to the mix and the adolescent wizard let go of his glass to clap his hands over his ears in an attempt to lessen the attack on his sense of hearing. With a somewhat detached curiosity, he noticed that the glass and its liquid contents vanished before they could shatter and splatter on the floor.

Around him, the blurred smudges of cream and reddish browns that were the tasteful drawing room of his guest suit in Malfoy Manor changed colours through a wide variety of palettes accompanied by an unsettling sense of rapid movement that did nothing to decrease his nausea until it finally, thankfully slowed down and settled on dusty shades of grey.

Highly alert and suspicious despite his upset stomach, Marvolo looked around his destination - ‘cause he had certainly travelled through space, but why?! - with his wand drawn. However, his sharpened senses couldn’t find something or someone responsible for whatever had happened to him just now. The temptation to shout out: ‘Who is there? Show yourself!’ was immense but the budding Dark Lord thought that silence was the better part of valour until he knew WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK HAD HAPPENED TO HIM?!

His surroundings were not a great help. The ornate red velvet armchair that he had arrived in stood out like a sore thumb in the room that was barren and desolate. Nonetheless, he could see that what was now layers of dust and broken windows and greying wallpaper must have once been lavish to the point that it might have rivalled Malfoy Manor. What remained of the furniture was hidden under dusty-grey sheets and attempts had been made to cover the broken windows with planks of wood to keep out wind and weather.

With growing suspicion, Marvolo turned on the spot, taking in what remained of the room in more detail. No, not the trails left in the dust left behind by feet, what he thought might be fringes of robes and something he couldn’t discern. No, it was the pattern of the wallpaper, the shape of the wide, ceiling-high windows, and the off-center mantlepiece of the fireplace.

He had been here before. Not two weeks ago, in fact. To visit his sire and his sire’s parents. This was the ballroom-turned-audience chamber of his grandparents’ home, Riddle House in Little Hangleton. The visit had ended in the death of all three inhabitants of the mansion. It was a memory he cherished so much, he considered making it the anchor of his second Horcrux once he had ensured that it was indeed safe to make more than one.

As the last remaining scion of the Riddle family line, the estate belonged to him now. He would officially inherit once he came of age in the Muggle world but he had already decided what he wanted to do with it: nothing.

Well, the building definitely looked like someone had done nothing with it, albeit for decades and not just for a couple of weeks!

With a sense of foreboding, Marvolo shot caution to the wind and with a murmured “Sod the trace,” he blanketed the chamber in Tracking Charms and Investigation Spells. Waves of coloured light rolled through the room and out the doors and windows, illuminating the space around his armchair, lighting up the footsteps he had noticed earlier, and feeding back any and all information to him he might find interesting the wider they spread out from him.

The magic didn’t tell him much more useful details than his other senses had, but it did find another spark of life in the desolate manor house besides himself, a couple of failing wards that were attached to himself - weird - and nothing that would hinder him from leaving. Now more curious than anything else, he sought out the other being in the building and what he found was indeed nothing more than a spark.

The pitiful creature writhing in front of a blazing fireplace was beautiful; the largest snake he had ever seen - not counting the basilisk - hooded, with shimmering green scales. It was obviously in agony.

 _~Master,~_ it called out to him. _~Master, it hurts. Make it stop!~_

He was at a loss for a moment. For a while now, since he learned more about Parseltongue and his ancestry, he had toyed with the thought of acquiring a snake familiar but his wish to keep his public image pristine had stopped him from going through with it. He certainly didn’t remember meeting such a gorgeous specimen. However, no other wizard or witch he knew would bind a large, probably venomous magical snake to them, not in the current political climate, even if they weren’t notoriously hard to control for a non-Parselmouth. 

_~I am not your master, lovely snake. Who are you and to whom do you belong?~_ he asked with honest curiosity.

That made it stop writing for a moment, raise its head and scent the air.

 _~You taste like master but not like master. Younger. Healthier. Not tainted by death. Why did you forget Nagini?~_ Her cryptic words made shivers run down his spine and he decided to ignore her question and the sadness contained within.

 _~What hurt you, Nagini?~_ And was it still here to attack him, too?

 _~Was ripped from me! It hurts so much. Please make it stop, master. Part of you, master. Shard of you, master. It’s gone and it hurts...~_ The end of her sentence ran out into an intelligible, wailing hiss and every attempt to get her to clarify her words thereafter was met with more cries of agony.

Marvolo tried to heal her. He was actually quite good at healing magic, as he had made it a priority to learn the craft as someone who was forced back into a warzone every year. An enquiry into underage magic would be much more welcome than bleeding out and dying, in his books. It did nothing. In the end, he decided to put her out of her misery with the Killing Curse. A flash of green ended the spark of life and he was once more left alone.

Could it be? No, it couldn’t. No iteration of him would ever be so foolish to put a Horcrux into a living being.


	2. Catching Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please assume that everything you know from canon after Harry stepped a foot onto the Hogwarts Express is false. I’m fully leaning into the butterfly effect so any and all events that might be influenced by the absence of a Gryffindor Hermione or the presence of a Slytherin Hermione will be subject to change. Thank you!

Apparently, somewhere in the last fifty years, he had gone insane. There was no other explanation for all the dumb decisions his future - or past? - self had made.

Making Nagini a Horcrux had been the least of it.

As far as Marvolo had learned over the last weeks, everything up to the eve of Lughnasa when he had been thrown forward in time - if that is what happened - had played out the same, only that in this timeline Voldemort hadn’t ceased to exist, rising to power as the head of a terrorist organisation, starting a Wizarding War - where had that come from? - and almost dying when trying to kill a babe. Just about three month prior, he had been reborn into a nearly-human body. He had seen the rebirth happening in the memories of his devotee.

Marvolo couldn’t keep himself from wondering when he had lost his vanity… because that bald, snake-faced body had been ugly as hell. He was still dealing with the shivers of revulsion from witnessing that.

In front of him was a spread of newspapers covering the last five decades. There were only issues that mentioned something substantial about him or the world’s events but they still covered the whole surface of a large dining table in several layers. The duel that ended Grindelwald’s efforts to take over Wizarding Europe. The end of the Muggle world war - that had been a relief - and the fallout from both. Honestly, there wasn’t much about Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Knights of Walpurgis or Voldemort before 1970. If Marvolo hadn’t ritually claimed his Dark Lord persona before he time-travelled, even he might not have made the connection between the model student leaving Hogwarts with the highest honours and the war-mongering Lord Voldemort a quarter century later and wasn’t that a shock.

Something in those twenty five years had heavily altered his goals, his beliefs, and his appearance and it was driving him crazy that he didn’t know what!

There were also issue’s detailing Dumbledore’s rise to power in the Wizengamot and the ICW, a lot of drivel about the Boy-Who-Lived - he didn’t believe half of that - the first successful escape from Azkaban ever, the first Triwizard Tournament in two-hundred years - both events with a lot of gossip and drama, he would have to look into that in more detail later - and finally claims of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the start of May of this year, 1996, and the following allegations of insanity against Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

Then, the week following his arrival, the report that Harry Potter had been admitted to St. Mungos because of an undisclosed condition. The Boy-Who-Lived had been in a coma ever since. Other than that, the current papers didn’t hold much value. Some gruesome murder on the continent here, some scandal about a corrupt Ministry official there...

Catching Voldemort’s fanatic follower had been a lucky strike. He hadn’t had to do much to do it either. Bartemius Crouch had walked right into his hands.

_On the morning following his arrival in the Riddle House, not long after his mercy killing of Voldemort’s snake familiar, the weak remnants of the wards had announced an intruder. As the protective spells hadn’t tried to hinder their entrance, Marvolo knew that they must be aligned with his future self and was merely careful and not hostile when the blond wizard stumbled into the room._

_He estimated that the man was around forty years old, though he could be off more than usual because the guy looked worn by circumstances, not by age. The robes seemed slightly too large on his frame, not new but clean. However, what stood out most to Marvolo was the gleam in the wizards eyes._

_“Master?” the intruder questioned and Marvolo had a sense of déjà vu. Could this wizard see or feel his aura like the snake had tasted his magic and found it familiar? Or did he actually recognise his face?_

_At least the guy wasn’t in his death throes and proved to be a veritable fountain of information. Marvolo learned that the former Hufflepuff had joined the Death Eaters right after graduation only to go to prison not two years later for his master after getting caught for the torture of the Longbottom family. The sixteen year old Slytherin listened with rapt attention when Barty told him about getting conned out of Azkaban by his terminally ill mother who took his place and being imprisoned under_ Imperio _by his father instead for the next decade._

_A fortunate series of events, including the dismissal of his gaoler, a nanny elf, and Bartemius senior getting injured during the Triwizard Tournament and hospitalised, meant that nobody was home when Barty shook off the Imperius Curse once more and he managed to escape._

_“It took me several months to find your wraith, master, but I managed it, and together we were able to make you a new body,” the Death Eater related gleefully. He had apparently no problems transferring his fabled Hufflepuff loyalty from the snake-faced older version to the teenage Tom Marvolo Riddle in front of him that had no memories of all those events._

The rebirth of Voldemort had happened three, now nearly four, months ago and according to his faithful servant all Death Eaters were aware that their master had returned because the Dark Mark had re-activated after a decade-and-a-half of slumber, only to fade to near-nothingness when Marvolo travelled to this timeline - Dimension? Parallel plane of existence? - and as good as severed the bonds. What remained were frayed threads, feeble as the wards had been when he became aware of them.

He had strengthened the protection spells around the mansion but had not yet dared to contact Voldemort’s probably extremely confused followers. The young Dark Lord had decided that he preferred to continue where he had left off, not his future self. Thus, he would return to Hogwarts, build up the Knights of Walpurgis and only when he had the backing of the next generation and a completed education would he reveal himself to Voldemort’s Death Eaters and get them on board, too.

Let them stew and wonder what happened to their master. The power vacuum should keep them busy over the next two years. Should he happen to find one or two that were especially useful, like Barty, he might make an exception for them.


	3. Who is that Girl?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m using my own timeline for Minerva here, as the only book canon we have is a teaching career of 39 years in OoP and all the rest has been mangled between interviews, Pottermore and FB: Crimes of Grindelwald.

He had foregone the travel by boat with the firsties after an uneventful ride aboard the Hogwarts Express in a car that he had warded against any intruders, having decided beforehand that he would not approach anyone before he had the chance to observe them inside the castle’s walls. Now Marvolo was standing in an antechamber in the middle of a bunch of squirts, listening to the Deputy Headmistress lecturing them about the houses.

 _My, isn’t that Minnie McGonagall here,_ he thought with an inward smirk. _You got old, girl._

She had been a year ahead of him, a Prefect for Gryffindor, and a hellcat on the Quidditch pitch. They had faced off a time or two against each other in the Duelling Club and she had given him a run for his money. Prodigy that he was, that was impressive, even for someone a year older. Sadly, she was too attached to the Muggle side of her family, or he would have been happy to recruit her as an asset for the Knights of Walpurgis.

Marvolo tuned back into the lecture when the deputy informed them: “I will call you to be sorted by name in alphabetical order. And yes, that includes you as a transfer student, Mr. Gaunt. Now, please follow me into the Great Hall in an orderly fashion.”

Minnie had done a double take when her eyes first fell on him, even with the warning Dumbledore must have given her, but claiming to be his own first cousin once removed seemed to be working. That he had lightened his hair permanently and that it had been half a century since they last met in person might also have affected her and so she had dismissed whatever had been going through her head at the moment and done her duties.

As he was about to be in the centre of attention, he made sure the fall of his robes was immaculate, his back was straight, and his public mask was fitting flawlessly. For most of the people in the Hall it would be the first time they saw him and the rest wouldn’t know that they knew him already, so he wouldn’t ruin his (second) chance for a good first impression.

He took the lead, the little firsties entering the Great Hall after him like a line of ducklings. With interest, he let his gaze wander over the four House tables that looked no different to his first time at Hogwarts. There was gold-and-red, boisterous Gryffindor, with Harry Potter and his sidekick at the place of honour in the middle of the table. The Golden Boy had recovered just in time for the new school year, still looking a bit peaky, and nobody knew what happened to him yet though Marvolo had his suspicions.

The Ravenclaws with their blue-and-bronze House colours were more subdued, some reading books under the table or talking quietly amongst themselves. The yellow-and-black Hufflepuff students were the most attentive to the yet-to-be-sorted newcomers, greeting them kindly and trying to cheer those up that looked shy or scared. But it was the Slytherin table that interested him most.

At the table of the green-and-silver snakes, only a few hushed conversations could be witnessed. Most were quiet and observing the hall covertly, just like he was doing. That was partly because of the natural inclinations of those sorted Slytherin and partly because of the suspicions levied against them that were at an all-time-high, in no small measure because of his future/past self. (That construct still threatened to give him a headache, even after he had weeks to come to terms with it.)

That was very short-sighted. Yes, he had practically converted all his dorm-mates and a good chunk of his House at his time at Hogwarts in the 40s, but he had also put out feelers to people in all three other Houses that might be sympathetic to his cause and he knew Voldemort had at least a few Gryffindors and Ravenclaws in his ranks. Hell, the first Death Eater he had ever met had been a bloody Hufflepuff!

Meanwhile the Sorting had started and was quickly progressing through the As, Bs, and Cs. Marvolo didn’t particularly care and listened with half an ear while he continued his surveillance. At all tables, but especially amongst the Slytherins, he had noticed features that reminded him of former contemporaries. Pureblood bloodlines tended to breed true and sometimes spouses were chosen based more on their looks than personality. If the House was extraordinarily vain about their traits, they might even help it along with a bit of magic to make the new family member fit in even more. He had been both amused and bemused when a Knight had admitted to that quite sheepishly not long ago.

Then he saw a face that stood out from the carefully blank faces around it: One of the older Slytherin students, a girl with beautiful brown curls and wide eyes that were locked on him. Going by her expression, you could have thought that he was here to join the Hogwarts’ ghost population and not the student body. Her stare wasn’t appreciative of his handsome appearance like that of a few other students, both male and female, but outright shocked.  
He searched his memory but couldn’t attach her features to anyone he knew, past or present, in contrast to the young man across from her that had the pointy chin and pale colouring of the Malfoy line. 

If he had the time, he might have given it more thought, but just then Professor McGonagall arrived at the Gs and called for: “Gaunt, Marvolo.” Yes, he had kept his forename but then pureblood families had a tendency to hand down names and so it was actually sensible to use his grandfather’s - now, great grandfather’s - name in public and it spared him the necessity of choosing another, to which he would have had to get used to first.

 _’Ah, Mr. Gaunt. Descended from Slytherin, I see. Ambitious and cunning. My, you are an easy one to sort, aren’t you?’_ Marvolo didn’t deign to answer the Sorting Hat and easily handed it back over to the Deputy Headmistress after the expected call of “Slytherin!” His sorting had gone even faster than the first time around, when the Hat had considered Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for a moment before budging to the unrelenting ambition Marvolo had had even as an eleven year old.

He sauntered over to his new housemates, not aiming for the end of the table where the first years tended to gather but slipping in neatly amongst the older years that greeted him amicably. While the Gaunts might have lost a lot of prestidge over the last one or two centuries, they were still regarded as Old Blood and his face was pretty enough not to remind them of the inbreeding.

“Theodore Nott,” the young man next to him on the bench introduced himself.

“Marvolo Gaunt, but you heard that already. Nice to meet you,” he reciprocated politely. “Any relation to Quintinus Nott?” That question got him a mistrustful stare.

“My father. Why? You got anything against my family?” Oh, Quintinus either had a junior with the same name who was this lad’s father or had a kid in his old days. 

“Oh no. Just someone the Head of my family tended to correspond with,” Marvolo admitted truthfully. After all, he had been the Head of his family since his uncle-made-grandfather had been incarcerated in Azkaban for a crime he hadn’t committed but would have gladly performed. He had died since then; Marvolo had checked

There would probably be some questions about that correspondence in Nott’s letter home. That was no problem; Marvolo wanted to re-establish ties with his old guard, as he had started to call them in his head by now, eventually. He just had to be careful that he didn’t make himself look untrustworthy in the process by intertwining too many plots at once and getting tangled in them.

To smooth over the less-than-perfect start of conversation, he decided to change the subject. The girl from earlier was still watching him, a few seats down the table, although she was doing so much more subtly now. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was also eavesdropping even if she pretended to watch the Sorting that had reached ‘Muller, Natalie’ now. “Who is that girl?”

“Her?” the Nott boy asked with a slight questioning tilt of his head at his year mate. “That’s Hermione Granger. She’s brilliant; smartest student of our year, possibly of the whole school. Wonder she wasn’t sorted in Ravenclaw. Doesn’t take no shit, that one. Be careful how you talk to her. She duelled Ron Weasley once when he insulted her; mopped the floor with him. She’s fierce with a wand.” 

Hu. Nott sounded positively enamoured with the witch. Interesting. And also eager to gossip, that was a plus.

“Granger? Don’t recognise that name.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Her family fled from Germany during the World War and went into hiding. Kept to themselves ever since.” With a look around to make sure nobody was paying them any attention, the mouse-faced Slytherin lowered his voice. “There are even rumours that she is descended from The Gellert Grindelwald himself…”

Marvolo made sure he looked suitably impressed with that tidbit of information. He had also seen from the corner of his eye that the shoulders of their subject of conversation had tensed when Nott had dropped the rumour. She was certainly listening in. He wouldn’t expect anything else from a fellow Slytherin. Alas, he couldn’t tell if she was happy or unhappy to be talked about this way. Either way, it wouldn’t stop him from milking his source further until his curiosity was sated.

“So, is anybody pursuing her?”

“Are you interested?” Nott replied with a wink. “Love at first sight? Her family is not noble enough for the Older families but some guys and a few of the girls have tried dating her. Not only Slytherins either. None could hold up to her standards is what the rumour mill says. Not even that Quidditch star, Krum, two years back could measure up. Now, enough free information. Tell me a bit about yourself…”

So Marvolo made inconsequential smalltalk, presenting his fake story about recently deceased parents and homeschooling while pondering the conundrum that was Hermione Granger, who he was sure had recognised him at first glance. How? Why? Sure, there was another pair of eyes in the Hall that followed his movements, belonging to Dumbledore, but he was used to that, at least.

What surprised him was that the Headmaster’s suspicious gaze seemed to travel to the Granger girl ever so often. Was that just because of her reaction to him earlier or was there a history between the two? 

Meeting Dumbledore for his admittance interview had been nerve-wracking. His former Transfiguration Professor had always terrified him in a way starting from the time he had brought him his Hogwarts letter and pretended to set all his worldly belongings on fire. They had never shed their mutual distrust though Marvolo at least had only ever shown it when he was absolutely sure that nobody else was present and even then had allowed only glimpses to flash through his public mask.

In the end, there hadn’t been much Dumbledore had been able to do to reject him, no matter how much suspicion he harboured against Marvolo Gaunt. Under the guise of a health check, the school matron had performed all matter of spells to check for glamours, transfigurations, and even potion usage to alter appearances and come up blank. He wasn’t sure but suspected she had even verified his biological age.

All the papers he needed about parentage, former homeschooling and the like had been officially filed with the Ministry beforehand. They hadn’t even needed to forge all that much. The Gaunts' inclination to keep to themselves and shun the Ministry had helped under the circumstances and thus only a small fee had to be paid for establishing his existence ‘a little late’ and he had taken his O.W.L.s a second time in the exams at the Ministry available for homeschoolers and those who failed essential classes during the school year but needed them for their chosen career.


	4. Like Him

After the Welcoming Feast and a track to the dungeons and another lecture by a professor, this time his Head of House, one Severus Snape, both for the newcomers and the returners, the Granger witch confronted him under the guise of welcoming him in her role of sixth year Prefect.

After some perfectly polite introductions she asked him:

“How come you join us now after the O.W.L.s? Did your family move or have you been abroad before?”

“Oh no,” he answered her nosy questions charmingly. “Nothing as exciting as an actual transfer. I have been homeschooled until recently. My mother passed away during the holidays and my new guardians and I decided that I would finish my education at Hogwarts.”

“I am so sorry for your loss,” she hastened to assure him. He waved off her condolences. After a bit of meaningless chatter, her tone turned circumspect and she enquired: “So, would you say that you favour your father’s bloodline? You know, in looks?”

What a weird question to ask out of the blue. Together with her earlier reaction, he got the feeling that she was still trying to place his face. Where could she have seen it? Some old publication with pictures taken when he was rewarded for his ‘services to the school’ shouldn’t elicit that kind of interrogation. 

“Actually, I’m not sure,” he lied through his teeth before adding truthfully, “I didn’t see him or my grandparents often before they died.” So many dead ancestors seemed to fluster the girl and she left him alone quickly after that.

After Granger’s retreat, Nott introduced him to more of his year mates and some of the seventh years. Compared to the young wizards and witches he had left behind in the 40s, they seemed much more immature, the sombre mood that had encompassed them during the Welcoming Ceremony notwithstanding.

But then they had grown up after a war, not during one and didn’t have Marvolo there to influence them during their Hogwarts years. And with the Dark Lord Voldemort gone just after their birth and the Light side riding the high, their parents might have been hesitant to teach them too much of the Dark Arts.

A few more enquiries regarding the Granger girl got him some interesting pieces of information, especially once he got to a witch named Pansy Parkinson. She was so eager to talk to him, sidling up so close that he was afraid she would hop into his lap in the next second. A sixth year like him, the girl wasn’t bad looking, but not a beauty either, with a diamond shaped face framed by dark brown hair in a bob cut, and an upturned nose. 

“Of course Hermione is a proper pure blood witch! How could she not? She started Hogwarts right out of the gate with a broad knowledge in all subjects. Was a bit of a teacher’s pet those first years, the dear,” Parkinson simpered. He didn’t buy the displayed affection for Granger one bit, but he would reserve judgement until later. “Knew the textbooks front to cover and mastered most spells on the first try.”

Here she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I bet her parents let her practice the spells in advance.” Only to return to a normal speaking volume. “How could she know so much about magic without being at least a properly raised half-blood? And for a half-blood, she is much too powerful.”

Ah, how he loved pureblood prejudice. Most of the Ancient and Noble Houses tutored their scions in advance, lest they disgrace them with a poor performance. But no-one he knew had learned the textbooks by heart - with one exception. One little orphan, scared to be rejected and looked down upon, eager to make his place in this new world that had opened up. Hellbent on learning as much as possible between getting his Hogwarts letter and the start of the term, even more so once he learned how the Wizarding society tended to ostracise Muggleborns. He would not be mistaken for one!

“And outside of school?” Marvolo asked.

“Hm? Oh, she was perfectly versed in etiquette, if that is what you mean, if a bit stiff and antiquated at times. But then her family are foreigners and secluded, so what can you expect? She didn’t get much practice traversing the circles in her younger years. When we took her under our wing, she blossomed into an elegant young lady in no time.” Parkinson giggled in a manner that sounded very affected. 

Just like said young orphan that approached the Slytherin Prefects to tutor him in Pureblood etiquette as soon as he set a foot into the dungeons to avoid standing out in a negative way. Book knowledge only ever brought you so far…

Talking to others supported what Parkinson had told him. Prodigy from day one. Far ahead of her peers. Some were not as eager to talk to him as Nott and Parkinson, either because they thought they themselves were a far more interesting topic than the Granger witch - Malfoy - or because they preferred not tattling on a friend - Bulstrode - but he learned quite enough on the grapevine to come to a conclusion:

Granger was more like him than anyone he had ever met. And she could pretend to be a pureblood all she wanted, she was a half-blood at best and a mudblood at worst, or he wasn’t history's youngest Dark Lord. That only made her more interesting.

What was left to this evening was settling into his dorm room that he shared with two other young wizards - the three-to-a-dorm rule had not changed over the decades. Malfoy was rooming with his two vassals, both spares to the respective Goyle and Crabbe families, so Marvolo had to move in with the two other Slytherin sixth years, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, a tall, dark-skinned, Italian-born wizard with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes.


	5. I Win

During the first weeks at school, Marvolo was able to observe for himself that Granger was academically superior to everyone else in their year. Not used to sharing the top spot, he swore to himself that he would take it from her in the course of the year in of all their shared classes. Even if he wouldn’t manage it, the academic rivalry would motivate him to do his best.

The weeks flew by. With the skilfulness of a natural-born charmer, Marvolo easily managed to wrap both the faculty and the student body around his little finger just as he had done in the distant past. Either Dumbledore hadn’t shared his misgivings with his allies or his arguments had been too weak because even old Minnie McG was eating out of his hand. Really, what did the old goat have against him but his convenient appearance out of nothing and the name of an old bloodline with Slytherin ancestry.

Honestly, the most logical guess with what everyone but him and Barty knew about the circumstances would be that he was his own son or grandson. Yes, it was absurd. Which Dark Lord that wanted to live forever would ever do such a stupid thing and sire an heir? Just look at history and you see that a lot of mighty men had fallen by their own offspring’s hand. But then, a lot of people, even magical people, were astonishingly stupid.

From the teachers, the one that kept most distance from him was probably Severus Snape. The man was naturally antisocial, somehow entangled with Dumbledore and his order, and as Dark as they come. If Marvolo didn’t have enough on his plate already, he might have enjoyed toying with the wizard. Snape was also heavily biased in favour of his House, so that was alright with Marvolo.

A lot of his peers adored the pretty transfer student. With the progress he was making, he might be able to hasten his plans to make a junior order of the Knights of Walpurgis. Originally, he had planned to do so at the start of the next term after New Year’s after he had established ties to different years and houses.

Just this morning, the Head Girl, a Seventh Year Hufflepuff, had teased him: “If you continue to endear yourself to the students and teachers like this, you’ll take the Prefect Badge from Malfoy in no time…”

He had thanked her amicably and hadn’t said that he wasn’t interested in becoming Prefect in this timeline. By next year, he aspired to be Head Boy.

His little private competition with Granger was coming along nicely though she wasn’t going down without a fight. They were about evenly matched. He ventured that he had the upper hand in the more practically leaning classes while Granger still topped the subjects that were more theory heavy.

However, something was coming up where he would be able to thoroughly demonstrate his superiority: their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had announced an ‘each against all’ style of tournament just a week ago, that would take place at the end of September, to see what they have learned over the last years and it would be held in a specifically prepared arena on the grounds. 

_Marvolo turned to Granger in the seat next to his._

_“Let us make a little contest out of this. If I win, you will tell me your secrets.”_

_She only had to ponder his proposal for a few seconds. “Alright, but only one secret.”_

_“Okay, whatever significant secret most relates to me,” he relented._

_“And If I win, you will go to Hogsmeade with me.” The price Granger named should she win took him by surprise. “A proper date.”_

_From what he had learned about her since the start of the year, he would have expected her to just ask him out if she fancied him. Oh well, that wouldn’t be too much of a chore for him. He would escort a pretty witch to Hogsmeade on any day._

_“So mote it be,” he sealed their deal with a smirk._

According to the grapevine, the DADA teacher had roped the younger years of both his own class and Hagrid’s and Sprout’s classes into helping him prepare the arena. They started out alone in a cloud of black fog that dampened sound, concealed their view, and made it difficult to breathe.

A Bubblehead Charm later, Marvolo conjured some wind to clear his surroundings, easily incapacitated the baby Devil’s Snare that nipped at his ankles - they had been told to harm neither their fellow students nor any creatures and plants they came across - and cast a Disillusionment Charm and a variant of the Silencing Spell on himself that would muffle any sounds he made.

Spellfire lit up the fog around him and he crouched down low so no stray spell would hit him accidentally. He didn’t want to cast any shield spells yet as they might make him visible in this surroundings. Near him, he could already make out some shimmering bubbles in the fog.

Marvolo also held back any offensive spells for the moment. He would save his energy for later when his trigger-happy classmates had decimated the numbers for him, like a good Slytherin should.

A second later, he was very glad that nobody was able to see his shocked grimace when a silvery glowing stag crossed his path in a wild gallop and dispersed most of the unnatural fog. Huh. That must have been a Patronus. Who was capable of such a high-level light spell?

“Yahoo! Go Harry!”

Of course. Potter. With an evil smirk, Marvolo followed the din the Weasley boy was making to find his alter-egos nemesis on the battlefield. He had to side-step some stupefied or bound people in the grip of either variants of the Petrificus or the Incarcerous spells. For young wizards and witches with an abysmal education in Defense against the Dark Arts, at least some of his classmates were making short work of the rest.

If he had to guess, he would expect the Death-Eaters-in-training and Potter’s band of Golden Boys to be among the former group.

Still invisible and silenced, Marvolo moved in a slightly circular path in the direction of his prey, aiming to get into their backs. He was nearing the shore of the Black Lake, as he now could see after the Patronus hat cleared the view for him. Potter was standing shoulder to shoulder with his henchmen, Weasley and Longbottom. They were defending each other, which was not in the spirit of the tournament, but to be expected from a band of lions.

Just when he had reached the perfect position to shoot the three idiots in the back, a quiet splash alerted him that something might not be alright. He turned on the spot, a Protego flaring out in front of him. His attacker couldn’t have seen him, his blurry outline only becoming visible when he hastily, instinctually moved around, but they didn’t need to. The fan of red bolts, the colour only slightly off from Stunning Spells, went right through his standard shield spell and let it collapse a second later when it broke his concentration and shocked his nervous system. His wand clattered to the ground. An onlooker might think that he had been a fraction of a second too late to cast his shield charm.

That was a dark grey hex, cast as an area of effect spell. It hadn’t felled only him, but the three Gryffindors too! It was related to the Unforgivable Cruciatus Curse, in that it attacked the nervous system and required more than a simple shield spell to defend against, but instead of overstimulating the nerves to the point of torture, it blocked them similarly to the Leg-Locker and the Full Body-Bind. Where those locked or froze the victim in position, the hex deadened the nerves in all regions the caster specified. Left active too long, or cast on vital organs, the spell could leave permanent damage or even be fatal!

Who was risking expulsion to win a simple competition? At least they had targeted only the outer extremities and three more red beams of light, fired in quick succession, had taken out the Golden Boys for good. Not likely that they suspected something was off.

A moment later, he felt his body lighten and then Hermione Granger became visible next to him, only to pick him up and lift him to shoulder-height.

Then, she yeeted him right into the Black Lake. He met the water with a splash that broke both the Disillusionment Spell and the Feather-Light Charm and made his bedraggled, sodden appearance and subsequent scowl visible to everybody after he had come back up from his dip under the lake’s surface.

Granger was grinning down at him.

“I win.”


	6. Professor Riddle

It took Marvolo only three months into the school year to re-establish the Knights of Walpurgis at Hogwarts, having students join from all four Houses and Fifth Year and up, a shining example of interhouse relations. He didn’t mind that he got mostly those that were anti-Potter for some reason or another, as long as he would be able to make them loyal to him. Little Malfoy was mostly in it because he wanted to turn Marvolo against Granger who was sadly opposed to join herself. It wasn’t because the Knights were gender biased. Around one third of the ‘club’, as they were seen by outsiders, were witches.

Networking on top of school work had kept him occupied over those months and he didn’t really have time to indulge in his burgeoning obsession with the Granger girl. To be honest, his ardour and curiosity had been cooled a bit after they had their date during the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year in the middle of October. It had been sweet and pleasant, with visits to the shops and a lunch at the Three Broomsticks followed by above-average sex in the fringe of the Forbidden Forrest, helped along by Silencing and Warming Charms. 

Oh, it wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed himself, both during the conversations and the intercourse but it hadn’t been extraordinary either. He had expected more from someone that had allegedly standards so high that no student at Hogwarts could meet them. Hence, he had pushed the unsolved mystery surrounding the witch to the back of his mind and had concentrated on re-building his circle of influence.

Therefore, it was a welcome break from his self-imposed tasks when Yule came around and left Slytherin House near-deserted. Only six snakes remained at the school, two each in years five, six, and seven. The other Sixth Year to stay was Hermione Granger and thus he found himself in her company once more one evening in the Slytherin common room, their fellow housemates either enjoying an early night or a late study session in the empty library.

After their first ever conversation, Granger probably had an educated guess why he was staying at the school during a time most often reserved for family, but he didn’t have the same knowledge so Marvolo grasped the opportunity to resume the abandoned quest to learn more about the witch.

“So, why are you staying for the hols?” he queried after a bit of smalltalk about earlier winters at Hogwarts and his impressions of the Yule decorations - or rather Christmas for the less traditional occupants of the castle, ugh.

“A friend asked me to spend more time with her during the Holidays, so I stayed,” the girl answered with a secretive smile. Marvolo tried to recall any other girls their age staying that he had seen in Granger’s company but came up blank. He mentally shrugged and continued the conversation.

Granger changed the subject and mentioned the recent news about a serial killer and something she remarked upon made him listen more closely.

“They are on a killing spree since the summer, the Aurors assume. Do you remember that the Carrow twins have been called home just a week before the break because of a family emergency?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“The poor girls. Apparently they were the wards of their aunt and uncle and both elder Carrows have been found dead with the same rune markings as four other victims. All dead after extensive torture. They call the perpetrator ‘The Rune Murderer’.” Granger flipped the page. “Huh, they might get a new name soon. They found Dark Marks on all of the six victims. ‘Do we have a vigilante on our hands?’” she cited the paper.

Was someone going after Death Eaters that escaped justice?

“Who are the other victims?” Marvolo tried to sound rather uninterested.

“Igor Karkaroff, former Headmaster of Durmstrang. I met him during the Triwizard Tournament. Slimy, I didn’t like him. Macnair, executioner for the Creature Department at the Ministry. And some guys named Travers and Dolohov.”

He made a non-committal sound and let the topic die out.

Not long after, Granger discarded the newspaper and rolled her shoulders.

“I’m bored. Want some company in your dorm?” she asked salaciously.

“Why not?” he retorted, stood up and extended a hand to help her to her feet.

Once in the dorm, he pulled her close and kissed her thoroughly. Marvolo hadn’t noticed in the common room, but the girl had a slightly murky smell around her today. The scent was somehow familiar but he couldn’t remember why exactly and right about now he didn’t care that much, his mind turning to more pleasurable sensations.

“Last time wasn’t bad but let’s spice it up a little,” he suggested, sure she wouldn’t mind getting a bit more kinky.

“What did you have in mind? Do you want a little roleplay? Me, the naughty schoolgirl and you, the stern Professor Riddle?” she asked playfully with a twinkle in her eye that was extinguished as soon as the caught sight of his expression after that reply.

“What did you call me?” His voice sounded cold and dangerous. He saw her gulp. 

“Professor Riddle?” 

“Where did you learn that name?”


	7. Her Chamber of Secrets

With a disbelieving expression, he stared down at the diary in his hands, a plain black journal that he remembered very well. His Horcrux, his one and only tether to this plane, his one insurance against death.

“And they just handed it to you?” he asked incredulously, absentmindedly patting the snout of the basilisk that was rubbing her head against him affectionately.

“Yes, in our second year. I never found out what they wanted to accomplish with that, whether they wanted to get rid of contraband, revive the Dark Lord, or kill me, or a combination of all that. They probably didn’t expect that I would make a deal with Tom.”

“A deal. With Tom.” He sounded faint to his own ears. “And you befriended the basilisk.”

“Of course. How could I not? Lindora is such a sweet girl.” That, he decided to ignore.

“What kind of deal?” he wanted to know. Maybe.

“He would stop leeching my lifeforce, I wouldn’t try to destroy him, or, if I couldn’t find a way to do that, wouldn’t try burying him where no one could ever find him, and we would keep each other - and Lindora - company until the end of my Hogwarts years. After that, I would find him someone worthy to consume so he could become corporeal.”

Marvolo stared at her with wide eyes. He hadn’t thought that she could talk about murder in such a calm and matter-of-fact manner.

“What? Tom was the most intelligent companion in the whole school! Nobody else wanted to discuss magical theory with a thirteen year-old.” She pouted. She pouted!

For the moment, he forcefully wrenched his attention away from the insane young witch that had apparently blackmailed and befriended his Horcrux and indulged himself with a bit of Parseltongue banter with the basilisk. They had last talked around fifty years ago when he had last opened the chamber of secrets and the large serpent had killed a student for him.

Lindora told him that Voldemort had returned a few more times, during his sixth and seventh year and once more years later. He had been changed by then and had boasted about finding a clan of naga during his travels and seducing them into sharing their secrets and their magic with him. Okay… Marvolo wasn’t above using his charms or even his body to further his ambitions, but teratophilia hadn’t been on his list of kinks up until now. Ah, well, to each their own.


	8. Mine

“Well, I never expected that there would come the day when I was jealous of Blaise Zabini…” Hermione sounded drily amused, not what Marvolo would have expected when she had just caught him in flagrante delicto. Not that either the getting caught or the surprise at her reaction stopped him from fucking Blaise’s willing mouth.

“He does look pretty like that,” he conceded and he meant that, too. The pale colour of the undyed hempen rope contrasted nicely with Blaise’s dark skin, showing off the diamond pattern of the harness before looping around the ankles and thighs of the young man in a frogtie. The bound hands and collar were fastened to the footboard, putting Blaise’s head at the perfect height while allowing the bottoming wizard to brace himself against Marvolo’s thrusts. “You know that a locked door is there for a reason?”

“Oh, come off it, Marvolo. If you really wanted to keep everybody out, you would use a spell that couldn’t be countered by a first year charm.”

“It’s called common courtesy, Hermione!” Marvolo retorted. Blaise looked like he wanted to add something as well but he was magically silenced on top of having his mouth filled, so he remained unheard.

“What, like not sleeping around when you are in a relationship with someone else?” She looked a bit disgruntled now and was prowling around the bed the two wizards were using for their tryst.

“If you wanted us to be exclusive, you should have said so.” He sounded short of breath now, his movements becoming less graceful and more erratic. “Just because we went to Hogsmeade once and fucked a few times, I won’t stop other engagements without a formal commitment first.”

Hermione definitely looked exasperated after that and murmured something that could have been ‘You are weird.’

“Fine, continue sleeping around, but don’t mind if I do as well,” she shot back. He didn’t catch her next words, because she had leaned forward and whispered them into Blaise’s ear and got an awkward nod in return. Then she slipped on the bed behind him and bestowed kisses upon his naked neck and shoulders, one of her hands slipping around the other wizards body until it was out of his line of vision, not minding the rocking of their coupling before it was cut off when Marcolo was too stunned by the display to keep thrusting. He could guess where that hand was going when Blaise became very rigid from one second to the next.

The sudden rage that raced like molten lava through his veins at seeing _his_ witch with another man took him by surprise. He had never felt anything like it, not about a partner. The possessiveness, the urge to stake his claim and keep her for himself was maddening. Taking a deep breath to clear his head somewhat so he wouldn’t murder the poor sod that was tied between them, he disengaged from Blaise none too gently and made a grab for Hermione. However, she had anticipated that, had slipped back off the bed and was dancing backwards, out of his reach.

With a feral looking wolfish smile, Marvolo regarded the vixen that had snuck her way through his defences, becoming important enough for him that he _didn’t want to share her_. Oh, the young Dark Lord had other prized possessions but he would hand them out for others to play with in a heartbeat if it would benefit him. He would just make sure to retrieve them once they had done their part.

This was different.

His smile seemed to unsettle her, going by the wary, protective stance Hermione had adopted. Her wand was in her hand and raised in front of her before he had even had time to pick up his own. Unsure what he was planning to do, she didn’t cast first, but was ready to shield herself when he wielded his wand in her direction in all his naked glory.

Her powerful Protego did nothing to slow or stop his Imperius Curse. It was a dirty trick that he couldn’t use in a classroom setting so she wasn’t prepared for it. Although it only took her five seconds to throw it off - he was impressed - that was enough time for him to dispel her shield and pin her against the wall, her wand aimed securely away from him above her head.

“I mind,” he picked up their conversation once her expressive brown eyes had cleared from the blank, fogged state characteristic of the recently cursed. “And because I mind, I will stop ‘sleeping around’ if I get to have you for myself. I have found that I want you to be _mine_ so I guess I will have to become _yours_.”

The tip of his wand that lay against her lips had the witch listening attentively. The longer he spoke, the more she smiled and when he asked: “May I stake my claim, my dear Hermione?” she nodded readily.

“You may, Marv-”

His name was cut short when he replaced his wand with his lips and ravaged her with a hungry kiss. Said wand was then discarded in favour of gathering up her light robes, an action he regretted when she pulled back for a second to gasp: “Bind me.”

Not willing to let go of her for even a moment and not willing to use her wand instead for something as delicate as bondage, Marvolo ripped lengths of cloth from the hem of her robes and used the strips of soft fabric to bind her wrists and forearms in a ladder tie. The wand still gripped in her fingers meant she would be able to free herself whenever she wanted.

With her now bound arms again raised over her head, he stripped off her underwear, lifted her by the hips, and sheathed himself in her wet heat with a savouring groan. “Ahh, I love your tight cunt, little witch. It is mine. You are mine. Mine, mine, mine.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she commanded him fondly, something with which he gladly obliged. For a while, the only sounds that could be heard were the sounds of their bodies meeting and unintelligible exclamations of passion and lust, muffled by locked lips. Then her cries became louder, faster until she shuddered in his grasp and he followed her not long after, his face hidden against the side of her neck.

They came back to reality to the sound of slow clapping.

“Bravo. That was a hot show,” drawled a deep voice from the other side of the room. Twin incredulous stares were levelled at the young man sitting cross-legged and clothed on his own bed with coils of hempen rope at his feet. He put up his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you before. You are right next to the door. I’ll take my leave now. Don’t let my interruption keep you from round two.”

With that cheeky remark, Blaise jumped up and flitted out of the dorm, chased by a beam of coloured light that fused the door that shut behind him with the frame, merging them into a seamless plane. It would take more than a first year charm to access the room now.

“Up for round two?” Hermione quipped and then squeaked when he turned abruptly and, after a few quick strides, threw her down on his bed. She made a pretty picture herself, with her chocolate coloured curls spread over his pillows and her bound hands searching for her wand that had slipped her grip when she bounced on the mattress. Absentmindedly, he picked up the slim piece of wood and positioned it just outside her reach. In his opinion, her glorious body was entirely too covered in clothes, though. He would remedy that.


	9. Death Eater's Bane

When Theodore Nott got fetched by Snape at the breakfast table and didn’t return in time for classes, they knew that the ‘Death Eater’s Bane’ had found a new victim, the eighth in total. The press had continued to call him that, even when the seventh wizard to get murdered, one Caractacus Burke, dormant partner of Borgin and Burke’s, wasn’t found to have the Dark Mark.

Since the attack on Burke happened in early January, Marvolo had become increasingly nervous that there might be more to the serial kills than someone seeking revenge. Now Imbolc was approaching and Theodore returned after two days from his father’s side, who had miraculously survived the attempt on his life, with an ominous warning: “He is coming for you, my lord.”

Neither the younger nor the elder Nott could or would tell him, WHO was coming for him, so on the evening of Friday, the 31st of January 1997, a Hogsmeade weekend, a young Dark Lord that had recently attained his majority found himself back at Riddle House, where he had arrived in the future half a year ago. The red velvet chair still stood there and he had brought a bottle of overly expensive liquor that had been gifted to him at Yule, so he could sit in the armchair and nip at it, reminiscing about the last few months. If something happened, it would likely be before one of the sabbats. They were the time for rituals and he would rather not have to anxiously wait until the next one because he couldn’t be reached at Hogwarts.

The wards flared once, and then collapsed in a heap of fractured magic. It sent a shiver down his spine. Whoever was coming was powerful and not ready to be subtle.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, halted before the open door, and then resumed until someone came to stand inside Marvolo’s grandparents’ audience chamber.

“Ah, there he is. Hello, baby Dark Lord,” the stranger greeted him jovially. “You have made my life plenty difficult, I have to say.”

“Herr Grindelwald. Nice to meet you,” Marvolo returned cordially. “I can’t say that I expected you specifically. There were no reports of your escape.”

“No. They wouldn’t risk a panic, would they. But then, they would think I was an old man, far over his prime.” Gellert Grindelwald winked at him. “Just like nobody expects Voldemort to be a teenager at Hogwarts, still wet behind his ears. Quite difficult to find you, Mr. Riddle. It seems there aren’t many people alive that know that Tom Marvolo Riddle is Lord Voldemort. Or do you prefer Mr. Gaunt? ”

“My lord will do,” the younger Dark Lord snarked back. He was still holding his drink in one hand, his wand loosely held in the other. 

“What are you doing in my domain? Don’t you have a continent to conquer?”

“Ah, that is the problem. See, when the Seer told me that my war For the Greater Good would fail in the near future in all the possible timelines she could see, and that I would die in most of them, I researched further and in this one, I was alive and living in the castle I built.” Gellert Grindelwald was pacing now, visibly agitated. “I used a ritual that would bring a Dark Lord forward in time. Who could expect that that sadist of a bumblebee would turn my home into a prison?! All my allies are dead or have moved on. I find that I don’t like it here in this timeline, but my return ritual failed. Do you know why? Because someone ‘tagged along’ on the way forward, so he will have to ‘tag along’ on the way back.”

“No.”

“What, no?” Grindelwald sounded perplexed that he would decline.

“I like it in this time. Fifty years less of Dumbledore getting on my nerves, for example.”

“You are mistaken. I wasn’t asking for your permission, baby Dark Lord. I was simply informing you what is going to happen in -” A couple of glowing numbers appeared with the flick of a wand - “about ten minutes.”

The elder wizard had good reflexes and was quite cautious because he didn’t bother with a shield charm against the barrage of red bolts of light, instead raising pillars of stone from the floor of the hall to intercept the attacks, returning a volley of spells of his own that destroyed the whole wall on that side of the room. Grindelwalds return fire was halted when a magically enhanced voice greeted him with: “Hallo Urgroßvater.”

“Uh. Is that a way to greet your ancestor, Kindchen? Show yourself.”

Hermione stepped out of her cover further down the hall. She must have apparated there after she cast her first attack to have gotten so far away in the meantime.

“Only for ancestors that try to take away what is mine,” she declared calmly.

Grindelwald watched her for a moment. “You are one of Elias’ get, little one?”

She nodded. “Opa Eli. He moved here with his wife. My father was born in Britain.” Her smile turned into a frown. “You abandoned my grandfather even before it was known that he was a squib. The only thing you ever left him was your name and even that was more of a burden than a blessing during and after your war.”

They would never know how Grindelwald would have justified the abandonment of his child because Marvolo used this distraction to cast the Cruciatus Curse at him. Both it and the Imperius Curse had the added benefit of producing no visible light if cast right and even when cast non-verbally, with the right intent it would incapacitate the target for as long as maintained.

Hermione reacted quickly and cast Expelliarmus and Incarcerous at the trembling Dark Lord whose muscles had locked in an effort not to go to his knees. For a second, it looked as if the Disarming Charm would fail, but then the wand flew right into her hand. Marvolo saw her stare at it in wonder before she shrugged it off and shot him a look. “What shall we do with him?”

“Just deliver him to the Hogwarts’ Gates. Dumbledore dealt with him once. He can do it again…”


	10. Epilogue

The summer after his sixth year is the best summer of Marvolo’s life. Not because of the Head Boy badge that arrives via Owl Post. Not because he gets invited to spend Lughnasa with four different pureblood families - he turns them all down. But because he can spend it with Hermione. No matter whether they raze a Muggle mansion to the ground and rebuild it into a magical home - Barty helped there - travel to Germany to visit her magical relations or just stay in bed for days on end, she challenges him like no other person before her and he feels like it doesn’t matter who comes out on top.

Unsurprisingly, she makes Head Girl and so they don’t even have to sneak around to share a bed. She tells him about the time she almost murdered their DADA teacher in fifth year, one Madam Umbridge, and he doesn’t let her leave their suite for the whole weekend. He likes it when his girl gets all Dark and murdery.

It’s when they lay in bed afterwards, just cuddling and enjoying each other’s presence, that he asks her once more what she declined to do all through sixth year:

“Please join me and my Knights of Walpurgis, Hermione. You can help to shape the future. Guide me so I don’t repeat the mistakes of the past. Not as my knight, but as my Lady.”

She looked down on him with a soft smile and nodded.

“I still win.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had the final outline of this work nine hours before the deadline. I’ll never learn.


End file.
